


Ache is Hiding, Hoping

by breakthecitysky



Category: Southland
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakthecitysky/pseuds/breakthecitysky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The more Ben learns about Cooper, the more he wants to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache is Hiding, Hoping

**Author's Note:**

> (References events in 2x04, originally published elsewhere in 2010.)

Cooper mentions it in passing, a buddy who died, a funeral. Ben only ever catches brief glimpses of Cooper’s life outside the line, or outside the line and whatever cop bar they end up catching a few at after their duty is done. So he pays attention, and files it away, and when Cooper mentions it again Ben says he’ll go. It’s near Dewey’s rehab, they can make it a twofer. 

The whole day ends up feeling like something out of the Twilight Zone. It feels like Ben’s constantly using his peripheral vision, seeing things out of the corner of his eye and there’s never quite enough to make the picture clear. A widow, maybe two. At least that’s what he thinks, sitting in the church. He grew up in a world filled with illusions, with the public face and the private reality and the struggle to marry the two and he feels like he’s been given a front row seat to what happens when you can’t. 

He watches Cooper, but Coop’s as hard to read as ever, that calm, easy face, the eyes that know how to keep secrets. He meets Laurie, which is weird, because it’s hard to imagine Cooper with anyone, really. They get in the car, they head back to Los Angeles. He gets a few more glimpses. He gets that glimpse. 

He watches Cooper’s profile as he talks about his dead friend. About seeing him in gay bars, and getting ignored. He watches for any sort of flicker of reaction in that face, for regret, or loss, maybe even anger, but he can’t seem to find it. Just another peek into a part of Cooper that Ben’s never had access to and as greedy as he wants to be he can’t bring himself to ask for more. He just lets it go, hang in the air before dissipating, eyes moving back to the road. 

It’s not like he stops thinking about it, though. 

It takes over a month, and more bars than he cares to remember, more advances gently (and not so gently) declined before he finds the right one. Sitting at a far end of the bar, he watches the door, can barely stay seated when he sees the familiar broad shoulders, the shock of blond hair. His eyes track him as Cooper makes his way to the bar. There it is, then, the sweep of eyes over the landscape, that arch of eyebrow that’s all the reaction Ben’s given. He has to duck his head, cheeks coloring as he smiles. Busted, he thinks, and then almost laughs out loud because it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to get caught, these last few weeks. 

Cooper takes his time making his way over, of course he does. When he finally settles in on the empty stool to Ben’s left, Ben realizes his palms are kind of sweaty and wonders when he regressed to high school. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Cooper rumbles and Ben realizes he has no idea what to say, not in the slightest. 

“Thirsty, I guess,” he says finally, tearing at the label of his beer. 

“Thirsty, huh?” Cooper shakes his head, laughing softly, nods to the bartender for another round. 

It’s only awkward for maybe a minute or two more, Cooper coming in with the save like he always does, steering the conversation toward safe things, things they could talk about in any bar. Any bar, not just a bar where ten feet away from Ben men are pressed together on the dance floor. His eyes wander there now and again and when he catches Cooper looking he bites his lip to keep from asking. He never had much rhythm anyway. 

They’ve cultivated a rather impressive set of empties, or, well. Ben has, he thinks a little muzzily as Cooper reaches for his keys. 

“Lucky for you I cabbed it,” Cooper says mildly, his hand light on Ben’s back as he eases him out through the crowd. This was not how this was supposed to play out, he thinks as he’s settled into the passenger seat, window down just a little so he can get some fresh air. 

“When did you know?” Ben asks, staring at a worn patch on the roof of his car. 

“Probably always did,” Cooper shrugs. “Difference between knowing and doing. But if you’re asking for specifics, random encounters a handful of times when I was out of high school. Met Laurie, tried to do right by her and be something else until I couldn’t. Got out before I did something I really regretted, hurt her any worse. C’mon,” he says, the window closing again, “should get you inside.” 

Ben doesn’t want to let it go, though, not this time, hands fisting clumsily in the rough cotton of Cooper’s shirt and the kiss is clumsy and rough and he’s a little mortified when he sits back, can’t meet Coop’s eyes. 

“It’s okay, kid. It’s late. You’ve had more than your share,” Cooper says, getting out of the car. Ben sits there a minute longer, both profoundly grateful and really, really fucking angry that he’s been given the out. He stumbles out of the car and up the walk, hand shaking as he tries to get the key in the lock. Dammit. 

“Let me,” Cooper says from behind him, that same calm face and those same unreadable eyes. It’s all Ben can do not to swing at him, which he realizes Cooper is expecting. 

“I can do it,” he mutters. “Cooper, I…” 

“I’m going to take the couch, if you don’t mind,” Cooper says, ignoring him as they finally get inside. “Morning’s going to come soon enough.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just flops onto his bed, passes out from one breath to the next. He doesn’t dream. 

When he wakes, it’s to a throbbing head and a rolling stomach, the smell of coffee and other things resembling breakfast somewhere between appetizing and nauseating. The night comes back to him in a rush and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, swearing softly. He’s not ready to go out there, not yet. He swallows a handful of aspirin, brushes his teeth and takes a shower just this side of scalding, feels a little more human if no less anxious when he heads for the kitchen. 

Cooper’s reading the paper, the edge of it bending just a little as dark eyes meet Ben’s. “Have to get our asses in gear,” he says. “Don’t have a spare with me.” 

Ben nods, pours himself coffee and stares at it. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he says. When that gets no reaction he turns in Cooper’s direction, repeats himself. “It wasn’t.” 

Cooper carefully folds the paper and sets it down. “Ben,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“I’ve had my ass grabbed more times in the last month than in my entire life,” Ben says, “and I think I hit every gay bar in Los Angeles that didn’t require membership or a preponderance of leather looking for you. I meant it.” 

“Dammit, Ben,” Cooper growls and this time, when he looks up at Ben, his eyes tell him everything he needs to know. 

His palms are sweating again, but Ben doesn’t care, closes the distance between them and Cooper tastes like toothpaste and coffee, sweet and bitter at the same time and isn’t that just him, Ben thinks, isn’t that just perfect. He kisses him until he can’t anymore, lips bruised with them. He swipes a thumb over Cooper’s mouth. “I meant it.” 

Cooper nods, a big hand sliding along the back of Ben’s neck, forehead meeting forehead and it doesn’t matter, this time, that he can’t see Coop’s face. The window’s open.


End file.
